"Well, that's half half the fun of drinking, at least." the fun of drinking, at least."

Quentin got up. "I'm sorry I spoiled your dinner with your wife."

"Yeah, well, maybe I would've stuck a fork in her eye, so you probably saved me from going up on a.s.sault charges."

"I hope nothing ever happens that's weird enough to make you believe me, Wayne."

"I hope the same thing. But I still like you and care about you and I'm the best lawyer you'll ever get, especially now that you're a complete loon."

"Thanks, Wayne."

"Come in tomorrow after two to sign the papers getting her name out of your will and off your policies. You'll have to eat the ice cream alone."

And that was that. Somebody else knew the truth-somebody alive-even if he didn't believe it. Now it was just a matter of waiting. For his investigation to lead him somewhere. For the police to start getting suspicious of him. The trouble was that all he was likely to come up with was negative evidence-n.o.body knew her, n.o.body had seen her. But there was a paper trail. The User couldn't alter the paper trail. At least he didn't think she could. She dealt in illusions, in getting people to do what she wanted. She hadn't actually changed physical reality one bit. If she wanted that house to look clean, she could fool people. If she wanted it to be be clean, somebody had to come in with a mop. The same applied to doc.u.ments and records. It wasn't easy to fake a life. This Ray Cryer could be exposed. It could be proved, eventually, if he spent enough money, that Madeleine Cryer had never been born. clean, somebody had to come in with a mop. The same applied to doc.u.ments and records. It wasn't easy to fake a life. This Ray Cryer could be exposed. It could be proved, eventually, if he spent enough money, that Madeleine Cryer had never been born.

Which wasn't to say that the User would stay defeated. If one attempt failed, she'd make another-he knew that about her now. She needed him, for some reason. Needed Needed him. And as long as she needed him, she would keep coming at him, and he'd never know it was her. He could never trust anybody again. him. And as long as she needed him, she would keep coming at him, and he'd never know it was her. He could never trust anybody again.

That was the worst. Knowing that the User could come at him however she wanted, in any disguise. He'd never guess it was connected to her. After all, there hadn't seemed to be any connection at all between his sightings of Lizzy and meeting Madeleine at the grande dame's party. Every single person he ever met for the rest of his life, he'd have to wonder if it was really the User, trying again and again.

In the long run, he wasn't going to get out of this until he found the User herself and confronted her. The night before, he had imagined, in his rage, finding the User's mortal body and putting a .45 slug in her head. Now, in the light of day, did he really have the heart for that? Was he a murderer, just waiting for the right provocation? He shuddered at the thought. There had to be a way to defeat her short of killing her. To get her out of his life.

Of course, the simplest way would be to go back to New York and open the d.a.m.n box.

Only he didn't want to do that. If only because the User wanted it so much. Whatever was in there, it would be a very bad thing if the User got it. Because the User loved power, didn't she? That part of Madeleine, that disturbing part of her-that was the User talking. It had to have been. Certainly she didn't find it in Lizzy, or in Quentin's image of the perfect woman. That had been the User telling the truth about herself. The love of power. Whatever was in that treasure box was about power, and if there was one sure thing in this whole business, it was that the User should not get her hands on more power.

Power. Madeleine had told him that she was in Washington in order to be around power, to get some kind of influence. Was any part of that true? The User must have noticed him somewhere, and it was after he moved to the DC area that he started seeing things-Lizzy, and then Madeleine. The User might have grown up in the Hudson River Valley, but that house had been closed down for years. She had to be living somewhere, and it made sense that it was in the DC area. And if she lived there, somebody knew her.

He made a connection. The grande dame's party, where he met Madeleine. There was was someone in DC who had known Madeleine before he did. someone in DC who had known Madeleine before he did.

But he wouldn't send one of his investigators to talk to the grande dame. He owed her more civility than that. He'd go and talk to her himself.

10. Memories

"I remember you. Or do I?" She was as gracious as before, and the confusion of her words didn't show on her face.

"You were very kind to me at a party one night," said Quentin. "In fact, you introduced me to my wife."

"That would be clumsy of me, to introduce a husband and wife to each other."

"No, no, she wasn't my wife at the time, we-"

"Please, Mr. Fears, I was joking. I'm old, but I still understand the ins and outs of simple communication. I spoke to you for a while, didn't I? I think I ran on and on, but you were very patient."

"Conversing with you made me glad that I had read my sister's collection of Jane Austen novels."

"I was not around in the Georgian period, Mr. Fears."

"You converse as elegantly as if you had been. It makes a California boy like me struggle to keep up."

"Now I remember you. I caught you fingering the books in the library."

"I thought of myself as eyeing them."

"You were climbing the ladder, anyway. Did you come to thank me for introducing you to... what was the young lady's name? Not Duncan, anyway."

Not Duncan? "Madeleine Cryer."

"The niece, yes."

"Niece?"

"Well, of course to you she's your wife, but to me, she's the niece of my good friends the Duncans. They have been so kind to me in the last few years, since my husband pa.s.sed on."

"And so you invited their niece to your party."

"How could I not? Such a lovely girl. Not at all like the Duncans' rather unfortunate daughter. Oh, but now I'm being a gossip."

"What's the Margaret Truman quote? 'If you can't say something nice, come sit by me'?"

"It wasn't Margaret, my dear boy. But these stories have a way of attaching themselves to the people the newsmen have actually met. Of course no one invites newspapermen to any real real parties. So they never know the truly clever people." parties. So they never know the truly clever people."

"You aren't telling me that it was you you who originated that-" who originated that-"

"How old do you think I am am, young man!" She feigned horror. "That story was ancient before Margaret Truman was born. My great-grandmother's diary mentions hearing that line attributed to the wife of James Buchanan."

"He was the president before Lincoln, wasn't he?"

"Very good-you are in the top two percent of your generation, for knowing that."

"Do I make the top one percent for knowing that Buchanan was a bachelor?"

She clapped her hands together, hankie and all. "Oh, you are a delight, Mr. Fears! It's no fun fun teasing people who never understand they're being teased." teasing people who never understand they're being teased."

"Do the Duncans understand?"

She looked at him sharply. "So we're on a fishing expedition. But I think your purpose is either loftier or lower than mere gossip."

"Loftier, I think. My wife has left me."

"Without a claim check, it appears. So when she returns to reclaim you..."

"Oh, I'll be here waiting, if she returns. Her departure was sudden. I don't know where she is."

"Did you do her violence, young man?"

"I'm not a violent man," said Quentin. "But I appreciate your concern for her safety."

"Men do not come with labels, alas, clearly identifying those who harm women from those who are unfailing gentlemen."

"Then tell me nothing, but merely allow me to write a note to Madeleine, care of the Duncans, care of-"

"Care of me."

"Though many hands touch my message, yet may it still have power to touch her heart."

"In all my reading, I can't recall where I heard that gracious speech before."

"You heard it here."

"You invented your own? A lost art is revived before my eyes."

"That art cannot be lost as long as you are in the world. In you the river of time slipped its banks and took a different route from the rest of the world."

"Now that that one you did not invent." one you did not invent."

"The January Atlantic Atlantic."

"The article on Madagascar." She laughed. "Oh, Mr. Fears, you're such a spoof."

"Madeleine and I read that issue on our last plane trip together."

Her face grew solemn. "The pleasure of your company has made me forget your errand. By all means, give me your message."

He patted his pockets for a pen. "I'm here unarmed, I'm afraid."

"Then you must rise to your feet and arm yourself at my writing desk. Perhaps you'll want to choose one of the second sheets, so you don't have my monogram on your note."

Quentin went to the writing desk, chose paper and a pen, and wrote.

Dear M I love you and miss you. Please a.s.sure me that you're well. Tell me the future is still a treasure box which we may open together.All my love, QSince Quentin had no idea what the User wanted, he could not be sure that this note, if it even reached her, would have any effect at all. But if in fact the opening of the treasure box was her goal, this note had to leave her wondering exactly how much Quentin had understood of the things that happened at the house on the Hudson. It had to be good for him if she thought he understood less than he really did. And since he understood very little, it shouldn't be hard to persuade her that he knew nothing.Except, of course, that the moment he called attention to himself, what would stop her from ransacking his mind and finding all his secrets? Lizzy said that the User had left him some independence. You are not without resources, Lizzy said. So maybe it was worth writing this note.He folded the note in half, then carried it to the grande dame."Oh, Mr. Fears, you are cruel.""Am I?""You could have sealed it. Then I would have steamed it open and read your note. But handing it to me folded shows such trust that I would die before I violated it."Quentin laughed and read it to her."Oh, Mr. Fears, I will not deliver this note. Instead I will find treasure boxes of my own for us to open together. Why couldn't you have white hair and arthritis! Such a romantic!"They laughed together."Young love is so hard, these days, Mr. Fears," she said, offering him her hand. He took it gently, and because of the way she rested her hand on his, he did not shake it but instead bowed over it, thinking that he should surely be wearing a cutaway for this scene. "If I see my friends' naughty niece, I will reprimand her for wasting such a fine young man-and after all the trouble we took to bring you to her!""Trouble?""I told you at the party how I felt about marriages and money. The Duncans are an old family. You are new money. Such a match is made in heaven.""But the only person I knew at this party was a lobbyist who-""Who was invited to this party because he knew you.""But I only called him a day before to ask him to take me to something.""Really? Then the Duncans must have been watching you rather closely, because it was exactly the day before when they asked me to invite both that lobbyist and their dear niece.""So you didn't just stumble across me in the library.""Nor was Madeleine only by chance under the cherry tree. Oh, Mr. Fears, I thought I was helping create a good family, not setting you up to have your poor heart broken. Will you forgive me?""There's nothing to forgive. If I've had any happiness in my life, it's because Madeleine brought it to me. And even if I only had that happiness for a season, I'll always be grateful to you for sending me to her that night.""I'm glad you're not in politics, Mr. Fears, for I should have to leave my home and vote for you, and I do hate going out.""Yours would be the only vote I'd get, but I'd feel as if I had won."She applauded him again. "If only you would pink some rival in a duel over me, I could die happy.""I have to ask, even though I know the answer. You couldn't simply tell me the Duncans' first names and where they live, could you?"If your wife didn't introduce you to them, and they didn't introduce themselves, it's hardly my place without their consent, don't you think?"Quentin nodded. It was the answer he had expected. "I'll come back when it's all settled, to tell you how things came out.""My door is always open to you, Mr. Fears. Good day."Outside on the porch, he was almost surprised to see an ordinary overmoneyed street in Chevy Chase. There should have been carriages pa.s.sing over cobbled streets, and rows of townhouses, and blossoming cherry trees. Instead it was winter, the trees were bare, and most of the houses showed that money and taste do not arrive on the same schedule.Duncan. Friends of the grand dame-but for how long? And they arranged for his invitation to the party. She was already watching him, the User was. How had she found him? Rich men were thick on the ground inside the beltway. Why had she chosen him?It was almost, almost worth it, just to have met the grande dame and won her friendship. If only he were really the courtly gentleman he had just mimicked in her drawing room. But somewhere along the line he suspected there would be a time when he stood toe to toe with an enemy, and there would be no pinking in that that duel. Something bright red would flow, and someone would fall, and his thought at that moment was that it would probably be himself. But he would not go down easy. duel. Something bright red would flow, and someone would fall, and his thought at that moment was that it would probably be himself. But he would not go down easy.Quentin got into his car. Once inside, he looked around to see if he could spot the surveillance teams that were supposed to be watching the house to see who entered and left after his visit. He didn't see anyone at all, not even a car parked on the street, which either meant that they had screwed up completely or they were very, very good. He pulled away from the curb and called Wayne Read on his cellular phone."You just pulled away from the house," said Wayne, by way of greeting, "and you're heading toward the beltway.""I didn't want them to follow me me.""Just wanted you to know they were on the job.""And calling you long distance to report on it.""Well, hey, you can afford it and we both own stock in AT&T.""I've got a name for you to look for. Duncan. That's a last name, a married couple and they have a daughter. Supposedly Madeleine is their niece. I'm willing to bet that Mr. Duncan is the guy who called himself Ray Cryer.""Duncan. I'll bet there's only one Duncan family in all of the DC area.""That's what the surveillance team is for, right? I wrote a note to Madeleine and left it with the grande dame. Either she'll send somebody to the Duncans or the Duncans will send somebody to pick it up. Either way, there'll be somebody to follow.""Unless she puts it in an envelope and puts a stamp on it.""People still do that?" Of course he knew they did, but since he hadn't personally licked a stamp in many years, he simply hadn't thought about that possibility."Still a bargain at thirty-two cents. And if we interfere with the U.S. mail, that's a felony for all concerned, so we won't do it, even for a guy we love as much as we love you, Quentin.""Yeah, well, you still have the name Duncan to go on.""I can hear the phone call now. 'Is this the Duncan family that has a niece who magically disappears after six months of marriage to a rich insane man because he doesn't open a box in time?' We'll find 'em for sure.""If you're so smart, I'll bet you know who the only bachelor president was.""Of the U.S.? James Buchanan, the guy right before Lincoln. A Virginian who did his best to screw things up for the North before the Civil War. You want more?""Have you found anything about her cellular phone number?""It's a Cellular One number, one of the ones they reserve for company use in that area. Needless to say, it hasn't been a.s.signed to anyone during the past year.""And here I was thinking the connection was always so clear," said Quentin.So all his phone calls to her while they were engaged had probably taken place without anyone actually answering a phone anywhere. The User just made him think he was hearing Madeleine's voice come out of the phone.He got out onto the beltway before rush hour started, so driving home was only mildly h.e.l.lish. When he got inside the message light was flashing again on his machine. He wondered if it would be 'Ray Cryer' again or some other mischief from the User. Instead it was the police chief in Mixinack, New York. That wasn't the town Quentin had walked to when he beat his retreat from Madeleine's house; Mixinack lay to the north, and farther away. But who could fathom how jurisdictions were laid out? It was still midafternoon. He called."Chief Bolt here.""I'm-you answer the phone yourself?""Everybody's at the coffee machine or using the john. Who's this?""Quentin Fears, returning your call.""Well, hi.""Hi." Quentin didn't want to say anything until he found out what Bolt already knew. So he let the silence hang, till Bolt picked up the conversation and went on."I got this fax from Herndon, Virginia, saying your wife was missing. You found her yet?""Not yet, no. I have investigators on it, but there's nothing yet.""Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that. Haven't seen your wife, Mr. Fears.""I'm even sorrier to hear that that.""I can bet. Tough break. My wife left me once. d.a.m.ned shame. Came back, too. d.a.m.ned shame. That was a joke, son. But I guess you don't feel like joking.""I appreciate your thoughtfulness.""I'm a thoughtful kind of guy. I bet you're wondering why I bothered to call when I don't have anything to tell you. Well, what can I say? I'm a curious guy. My secretary just got married and with this stomach flu going around I've got to keep all the men I've got left out on the road running speed traps, or we won't be able to meet the payroll. That's another joke, but I've given up on you laughing.""You're telling me you're all alone in the office.""That's my point! You are are listening! Well, you see, that's why I'm the one saw your fax. We get a lot of those-hate the d.a.m.n machine, you know, like to rip it out of the wall, since listening! Well, you see, that's why I'm the one saw your fax. We get a lot of those-hate the d.a.m.n machine, you know, like to rip it out of the wall, since we we have to pay for the paper for every boneheaded stupid meaningless fax that any moron in the country decides every police department ought to have. But your fax caught my eye, because of the address you gave for that house where you say your wife left you." have to pay for the paper for every boneheaded stupid meaningless fax that any moron in the country decides every police department ought to have. But your fax caught my eye, because of the address you gave for that house where you say your wife left you.""You know the place?""Well, you see, this is a small town, and yes, I know it well. Drive past it quite a bit. Hasn't been a soul living there for five years since the old lady went to a rest home."An old lady who had ties to the house, gone to a rest home. That might explain why Grandmother couldn't find him herself."I have my boys check it out now and then," said Bolt, "to make sure there's no vandalism. You know, broken windows.""Are there any?""You tell me, son. You're the one says he spent the night.""I didn't say that.""No, I guess I'm saying that. Saw that fax from Herndon, and I thought, let's check it out. So next time I'm driving down that way in daylight, I pull up and sure enough, there's tire tracks going in and coming out. And footprints. Don't like footprints-that's vandals. That's b.u.ms trying to squat in an abandoned house. Or tracks can be bored teenagers looking for a place to smoke some weed or pa.s.s along some s.e.xually transmitted disease, but whatever it was I figured it was my job to know. Drove on in, parked a ways back, and saw as how you must have had a driver when you got out of your car.""We did.""Yeah, well, I looked for a lady's footprints, but it seems she never got out of the car.""Is that what it looks like?""Or you carried her in. It's d.a.m.n sure she never set foot in that snow.""Interesting observation.""So far so good," said Chief Bolt. "So I remember how the owner asked me to look in on the place, so I think, Time to look in. Climbed up the steps and it's kind of dirty in there, isn't it?""Yes sir, I'd say so.""And cold. A man could freeze his a.s.s off in there. But somebody walked upstairs and spent the night on a filthy dustcover and peed in a toilet that doesn't flush and spit toothpaste into the dry sink. Walked to the bas.e.m.e.nt kitchen, stepping on roaches all the way, walked to the empty fridge-am I getting this right?"Bolt's c.o.c.ky sarcasm was contagious. As always, Quentin picked up the tone of the conversation and played it back. "You're quite the Sherlock Holmes," he said.Bolt's reaction was a brief "Ha." And then: "Well, I won't go through your whole itinerary. A walk out to the bluff. You did a real dance all over the graveyard. Walked around front. And then I've got your tracks coming back out the front door. You sat down on the second from the bottom step and set your bags down beside you. And then you got up and walked on out to the road and went south. Have I about got it right?""Can't argue with the truth, Chief.""And I ask myself, where was this woman who was supposedly last seen leaving the old Laurent place?""Laurent?""I guess the Laurents lived there longest so the name stuck. Anyway, the only thing I could figure was the missing woman you're looking for must have drove off in that car. Looked like the driver went around to open the door for her, but she never got out. And now she's missing.""Definitely missing.""So I really had only one question for you, Mr. Fears.""Fearsss. Rhymes with pierce.""Here's my question. Why did a man who the Herndon police tell me is richer than several third world countries combined, why would such a man go inside a freezing cold abandoned house and spend the night in bugs and filth?""Is that a crime, Chief?""Oh, if I caught you there, I could lock you up and put a vagrancy charge on you, but since you could show means of support and all, I don't think it would stick. Trespa.s.s, of course, but you didn't steal or vandalize. So no, we're not charging you with anything. I'm just curious, that's all.""So am I. I want to know where my wife is. Doesn't sound like you know.""I see," said Chief Bolt. "Kind of unfair for you to come up here, act weird, go away, and not answer questions about it."This wasn't going at all well."Chief, let me ask you a question.""Do you want me to answer it or just weasel around like you did?""Didn't you get an inquiry from a Ray Cryer about my wife, Madeleine Cryer Fears?""Ah, the father-in-law.""I've never met him, but he says he is.""Maybe it's in the paperwork somewhere, but-""No, it would have been called in during the last few days. You've been answering the phone, right?""Ray Cryer?""Right.""Nothing here. I've got the old messy-desk filing system, so I can't swear to it, but no, nothing.""Well, you see, this Ray Cryer called me and told me he had called you to tell you his daughter was missing. From that house. And that he already had the local police looking for her.""We're the local police, and we aren't. Looking for her.""Curiouser and curiouser.""But if you were there when she left, Mr. Fears, why would he call to tell you she was gone?""That's my question, Chief. It sounded to me like maybe he was trying to set up a different version of events.""Well, we'll never know, will we? Right now, all I've got is your word that your wife was there. And clear evidence that you've got really weird taste in lodgings.""Well, thank you, Chief Bolt, you've been really helpful.""So you're gonna blow me off?""No sir. On the contrary, I'm hoping you'll keep your eyes open and help my investigators when they get there.""This Ray Cryer blackmailing you? Is that it?""Pardon?""Were you on drugs that night? Was it a drug deal or something, and they dropped you off and threatened you or something?""What are you talking about?""You won't tell me why you acted so weird, I got to rack my brain coming up with stories that fit the evidence.""Chief, the house is haunted. I was invited in by ghosts, slept with ghosts, had breakfast with ghosts, went on out to the graveyard to say good-bye to their bodies, and then hiked along the highway to get home.""You know, I may be a small-town chief of the tiniest police force this side of MagG.o.dy Arkansas, but I got as good a doorway into jail as any other cop in America. So why are you showing me such disrespect, son? Though I will say that at least you're paying for the call.""Chief Bolt, I don't want to be your enemy.""That's good to hear. I'm not a good enemy to have.""Can you tell me anything about old lady Laurent?""Laurent? She's dead."Dead? Then what was "Find me" all about? "I'm sorry to hear that.""Happened about twenty years ago and she was older than G.o.d when she croaked, so n.o.body's broke up about it.""I thought you said the old lady went into a rest home a few years ago.""Son, it's plain to me you don't know squat about that house and the people who used to live in it, and yet you said your wife took you there to meet her family. Now you lay it out plain. Is this Ray Cryer blackmailing you about something? Did you do something criminal in that house? Or are you just insane? Because you sure as h.e.l.l did not not marry a woman who has anything to do with that house, since that family is marry a woman who has anything to do with that house, since that family is gone gone. Old lady Laurent is dead. The current owner is her daughter, the old lady I mentioned who went into a rest home. And her her only daughter is about thirty-five and married with a little kid, and she's never been back since the old lady moved out." only daughter is about thirty-five and married with a little kid, and she's never been back since the old lady moved out.""I did nothing criminal in that house. If Ray Cryer is blackmailing me, he hasn't asked for money yet and if he does I won't give him any because I haven't done anything I need to hide. As to whether I'm insane, well, at my income level people generally call us eccentric.""But you're still not answering my questions.""Chief, I want very much to meet you.""The feeling is mutual.""I want to go through that house with you and find out everything you can tell me about it.""What, am I a realtor now?""Believe me or not, Chief, my wife came to that house with me. She grew up in that house, of that I have no doubt. It's her people buried in the graveyard. And if I have any hope of finding her, it'll be through whatever I can learn about that house. So I will be there soon. And in the meantime, I'll fax you the receipt from the limo service that took us there, so you can find out whether I did in fact arrive with my wife.""I'll be waiting for it, son."They said their chilly good-byes. Quentin hung up the phone and called the limo company to have them fax Chief Bolt a copy of the bill. All the while, he kept telling himself that this was about the stupidest thing he could do. Since Ray Cryer was lying and he hadn't told the police anything, why should Quentin do anything to arouse more suspicion? Why didn't he just tell Bolt some c.o.c.kamamy story and hang up and sigh in relief and call off the search for a missing wife that he knew would never turn up? And above all, why would he provoke Bolt into getting proof positive from the limo driver that yes indeed, Mrs. Fears got out of the car and went into the house with Mr. Fears? The fact that there were no woman's footprints coming out out of the house could only make the chief suspect foul play. of the house could only make the chief suspect foul play.And yet at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. A gut feeling. A sense that Chief Bolt was a decent guy whose trust was worth having. And there was something important about him.Oh. Of course. Chief Bolt knew the old lady. And if there was any sense to the universe at all, the old lady in the rest home had to be Grandmother. Didn't she? Only she wasn't old lady Laurent, who was twenty years dead, which would make her Grandmother's late mother, which meant Laurent must have been Grandmother's maiden name and the chief would know her married name and where to find her. So knowing the chief was maybe a route to Grandmother.It was also quite possibly a route to jail.Quentin shuddered, and then thought of the thing that had made him shudder: When he felt so certain that he should say what he said to the chief, what made him think it was his own idea? For all he knew, he was acting out somebody's script.No. The User doesn't do that. She's made me see things, but she hasn't made me do do things. She can't make me say or do things because if she could, that box would be open and this whole thing would have ended back there by the Hudson. And if Grandmother could make me do things she wouldn't have made me see a talking rat in order to persuade me. things. She can't make me say or do things because if she could, that box would be open and this whole thing would have ended back there by the Hudson. And if Grandmother could make me do things she wouldn't have made me see a talking rat in order to persuade me.Quentin thought about it some more and realized why he didn't palm off some easy lie on the chief. It was because Quentin was a pretty good judge of people, Madeleine, of course, being a spectacular exception. After screening hundreds and hundreds of people responding to his ads, after working with many dozens of partners over the years, he could tell pretty quickly which people he'd enjoy working with and which would be nothing but pain.And Chief Bolt was his kind of guy. It was that simple. If Bolt were asking him for funding to start some business, Quentin would hear him out, make sure the premise was sound, and have the papers drawn up, because he could do business with Bolt.Except the business Bolt was in was the suspicious cop trade, and the only partnership the chief had in mind was the uneasy partnership of cop and suspect. The only thing the chief lacked was evidence of a crime and Quentin was helping him find some.Maybe it's an unconscious attempt to thwart the User, thought Quentin. After all, I can't open that treasure box if I'm in jail.

11. Reunion

Something touched him in the night. As he lay on his side in bed, something light glided over his bare skin, above his hip. He woke with a start, slapping at it. Someone gave a cry. He lunged for the light and turned it on.Madeleine sat in the bed, holding her hand as if it had been burnt, an accusing look on her face.He couldn't think of anything to say."Miss me?" she said.Suddenly it annoyed him, the way she was holding her hand, as if she were really in pain. "Don't bother holding your hand. I know you aren't hurt.""You think it doesn't hurt when you slap me?""I thought a spider was crawling up my-yeah, well, I wasn't far wrong, was I?""Don't be mad," she said. "Please don't be mad."The expression on her face was so genuinely sad, so full of longing, that he felt himself melting with compa.s.sion in spite of himself. But no, no no, he refused to be taken in."Get out," he said.She was wearing a nightgown. She plucked at the hem. "Tin, please, I...""Don't call me that. You sucked that out of my mind. Or Lizzy's-that name doesn't belong to you!""No, it's your your name." name.""It's my name when it's spoken by somebody who loves me. Not somebody who's trying to use me to open some... box box." He got up and walked clumsily around the bed, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. He got orange juice out of the fridge and poured a gla.s.s.She stood in the kitchen doorway. "Enough for me?""No," he said. "You don't need it. And that's something I want to know. Since you're not really here, what did you do do with everything you ate and drank? Where does it go?" with everything you ate and drank? Where does it go?"Her face went cold and she walked back to the living room. "I see," she said. "Your note meant nothing."He followed her, the gla.s.s of juice in his hand. "So your real name is Duncan?"She whirled on him. "My real name is Madeleine Cryer Fears. Your wife. There's a license.""And how did you sign it? How did your name get on it? You can't really really hold a pen." hold a pen.""I can hold a pen. I can hold a gla.s.s. I can hold you you. Remember how it felt?" She reached for him. Her hand, reaching to brush against his cheek, to cup his jaw and draw him close...He grabbed her wrist and pulled her even closer, then poured orange juice over her head. It dribbled down her hair, over her forehead. She covered her face with her hands and wept. "All I want is to love you, Quentin!"He stood there, looking at the juice, how real it looked. How it dripped from her hair onto her shoulders, some of it down onto the carpet."No," he said. "You're not there, and when I poured out that juice it went straight down to the carpet. It didn't go into your hair because you... aren't... real."She took the gla.s.s and threw it against the wall. It shattered and fell. "Think the neighbors heard that? that?" she asked.The shards of gla.s.s sparkled in the light from the kitchen.She was crying. He was crying. "Madeleine," he said. "I'm so sorry, I'm-you wouldn't believe-these past few days without you-"She held him. Her body fit perfectly against his, as it always had. "You think it was easy for me? I shouldn't have run out of there, but Grandmother-she hates me so much. I should have remembered, my love for you, it's stronger than anything, stronger than her hate, stronger than... Oh, Quentin, don't ever be angry with me again, please, it scares me, it hurts me..."And as she spoke, he looked at the glittering bits of broken gla.s.s and remembered the shimmer of the perfect goblets on the table in the library. And then how bare and dirty the table looked, under its dustcover. The look of the water flowing out of the tap into the clean sink in the bathroom, and then the dirty dry sink with taps that didn't work."Tin, please let me call you that, please, let me come back and be your wife the way I should be. The way we promised before G.o.d that we would.""You didn't want any cameras at our wedding, Mad," he said. "Why was that?"She was toying with his hair. "I wanted to imagine that I was the perfect bride, beautiful as snow in sunlight." Her words were simple, and her voice was like low music. Her hand touched his skin, the same touch that had wakened him a few minutes ago and it was awakening him again. "I didn't want to see pictures that might contradict my dream. Do you believe all those Kodak ads? That nothing is real unless you have a picture of it to prove it to yourself? Maybe I should be giving you a Hallmark card right now, or calling you on AT&T so we can have a really touching moment."He laughed. It was was Madeleine, it was the woman he loved. The sound of her voice, the feel of her hair under his fingers. Madeleine, it was the woman he loved. The sound of her voice, the feel of her hair under his fingers.Her hair.And now suddenly her hair was sticky with orange juice. But a moment ago it hadn't been. His hand froze in place.She looked into his eyes. "What?" she said. "What?"He turned his face away. He thought of Lizzy. He thought of the false image of her, walking up to the townhouse that was rented to n.o.body.He pushed her away and walked to the wall where the gla.s.s had fallen. He bent down and picked up a shard of gla.s.s and drew it along the wall. A scratch appeared in the wallpaper. Suddenly, without planning it, without knowing he was going to do it until he did, he jabbed the gla.s.s into the skin of his abdomen. Jabbed twice, three times. Only then did the pain come. He doubled over, it was so bad. Fell to one knee. But he knew it was a lie. He looked down at his belly. Blood was coming out, but there wasn't enough of it.And then, suddenly, there was more. Too much. He hadn't hit an artery. There wasn't anything there that could bleed so much. In fact, he knew that there was no wound there to bleed. Nothing. No reason for pain. There wasn't even a piece of gla.s.s in his hand.He still held the shard in his fingers.Hadn't Lizzy told him he was stronger than most people? Why couldn't he fight off these illusions of hers?On one knee, he sliced through the skin of the other. Sliced deeper and deeper. The gla.s.s cut deep. But all he could think of, all he let let himself think of, was dissecting a frog in science cla.s.s. The musculature of the leg when he peeled back the formaldehyde-soaked skin. And for the moment he thought of that, his leg was also a frog's leg. He peeled the skin off just as he had the frog's leg. himself think of, was dissecting a frog in science cla.s.s. The musculature of the leg when he peeled back the formaldehyde-soaked skin. And for the moment he thought of that, his leg was also a frog's leg. He peeled the skin off just as he had the frog's leg."No!" cried Madeleine.There was no wound in his leg at all. No shard of gla.s.s in his hand. No stab wound in his belly. The orange juice gla.s.s lay on the floor where he must have dropped it when Madeleine made him think she had taken it out of his hand.On all fours, he moved to the spot where she had been standing when he poured the orange juice over her head. There it was, a single puddle, spattered, but only one stream of juice had fallen, uninterrupted by a human body. He had recovered reality.Which meant that he had lost her again."Madeleine," he whispered.From the couch, her voice sounded cold and angry. "I'm still here."He recoiled, fell back onto the carpet, looked at her. She was on the couch primping her hair, looking into a small vanity mirror. "So your dead sister told you that you were strong," said Madeleine. "Bully for you.""Who are you really?" he said. "Just be honest with me, can't you? Who are you and why did you pick me?""I'm Madeleine Cryer Fears," she said. "I'm your wife.""You don't exist and you never did.""Oh? Then who have have you been making love to in beds all over America?" you been making love to in beds all over America?""A lie," he said. "I've been loving a lie.""Wrong answer, Quentin," she said. "I am the truth. I am the deepest truth in the most secret places in your heart. I am all your dreams come true.""What do you want from me?""What every wife wants. Someone to love. Someone who'll love me. Trust. Faith. A future. Your babies.""Shut up! up!""Do I take it this means you've changed your mind about children? Men are like that, so changeable. But I can wait. I won't trick you-no babies till you're ready to be a daddy.""You never let up, do you?"She leaned forward until she was spread like a lizard on the couch, leaning over the arm so they were nearly face to face. "Let me tell you a secret, my darling," she whispered. "I'm as real as any any wife. What do you think marriage is? It's all pretense. Your mother pretending that your father's temper doesn't scare her. Your father pretending that he doesn't hate it when she gets him all riled up about something and then suddenly can't understand why he's upset. Pretending to be happy with each other when they're both so desperately lonely because along about week three of their marriage they realized that they didn't really know each other and they never would, they'd be strangers together for the rest of their lives. But they couldn't live with that, n.o.body can, I've seen thousands of marriages and they can't face it that they're paired up with a stranger and so the decent ones, the ones who want to be good, they pretend to be whatever they think their partner wants them to be, and then they pretend that they believe in their partner's pretense. The only difference between them and me is that I'm so good at it. When I pretend to be exactly the wife you really want, I wife. What do you think marriage is? It's all pretense. Your mother pretending that your father's temper doesn't scare her. Your father pretending that he doesn't hate it when she gets him all riled up about something and then suddenly can't understand why he's upset. Pretending to be happy with each other when they're both so desperately lonely because along about week three of their marriage they realized that they didn't really know each other and they never would, they'd be strangers together for the rest of their lives. But they couldn't live with that, n.o.body can, I've seen thousands of marriages and they can't face it that they're paired up with a stranger and so the decent ones, the ones who want to be good, they pretend to be whatever they think their partner wants them to be, and then they pretend that they believe in their partner's pretense. The only difference between them and me is that I'm so good at it. When I pretend to be exactly the wife you really want, I am am that wife. I that wife. I am am. It is my whole existence. And when I pretend to love you exactly as you are, I do do. I'm totally focused on you, I'm witty when you want witty, s.e.xy when you want s.e.xy, weepy when you want sentimental, beautiful when you want to show me off. I am your true wife.""You don't know anything," said Quentin."I know you you.""You know how to get power over me. And it worked, yeah, you had me dancing. Eating out of your hand. Give the boy exactly what he dreams of and he'll sit up and beg.""I'm the one who's begging now," she said."You're the one who doesn't leave footprints in the snow," he said. "You're the one that orange juice pours right through.""You think you don't believe in me.""I don't.""Then why am I still here?""You're not," he said.He got to his feet. At first, for just a moment, he limped on the leg he had carved with the shard of gla.s.s. Except he hadn't cut it, there was no injury; he forced himself to walk without a limp."Even when you aren't looking at me, I'm here," she said.She followed him as he walked through the doorway to his bedroom. He slammed it and it pa.s.sed right through her. She stood there on the inside of the slammed door."I don't like it when you do that," she said."Slam doors?""I think that on the whole I've been pretty decent about this.""You!" He climbed back under his sheets. "You're an indecency.""I didn't have to come to you with love, you know."He looked away from her, leaned over and switched off the light. Now only the faint light slanting in through the mostly-closed blinds illuminated the room."I can find other things in your mind," she said.Suddenly he threw the bedclothes off him. A half-dozen huge shiny spiders were skittering rapidly along the sheet, over his legs. He flung himself off the bed onto the floor."I know those spiders aren't real," he said, panting.A man's voice answered him, a bleak-sounding whisper. "What is reality?" And then a vast hand clamped him around the throat and picked him up and flung him back onto the bed. As he sprawled on his back, the huge, white, slimy figure with a pus-filled wound for a face raised its other hand and smashed it down into his groin. Quentin screamed in agony until the monster squeezed his throat shut.This isn't happening, he told himself. The trouble was believing it.If I believe it, he thought, she can kill me with my own fear. I have to stop fighting it because it isn't there. Like the broken gla.s.s wasn't there. Like the wounds in my leg. My throat is shut by my own panic, not by any hand because there is is no hand. no hand.Breathe slowly, let the air out a little, then bring in a little. There's nothing in the room with me. I'm alone here on my bed.He opened his eyes. The monster was gone.But Madeleine was lying on him, her head on his chest, her waist between his legs, her hair spilling onto the bedsheet. Her body felt warm. He could feel her heartbeat. And despite himself, he was filled with longing. He raised his hand to caress her. But he stopped himself. It would not happen. He brought his hands up and tucked them behind his head, fingers interlocking. Just like the monster, this image, too, would go away."Aren't you the strong one," she whispered. "Aren't you brave, to insist on reality. You never could could face your own dreams." face your own dreams."She rose from his belly. But not as a normal woman might, raising herself up on her arms. Rather she rose like a marionette, pulled by strings. And yes, she was was a marionette, with Madeleine's face, her naked body, but the joints were mechanical and her jaw moved on a string. a marionette, with Madeleine's face, her naked body, but the joints were mechanical and her jaw moved on a string."Please. Someday, if I'm really good, can't I be a real girl?"And then she was gone.He lay there, panting, exhausted physically and emotionally."Oh, Lizzy, I did it," he whispered.He rolled to one side, then onto his stomach, one leg drawn up, his fist doubled under his chin, the way he always slept, the way he had slept as a boy. But his eyes stayed wide open. Seeing nothing. Seeing everything.

12. Believer

"Sorry, Quentin, but he must have seen our surveillance team," said Wayne. "Doubled back twice and we lost him.""Him?" That was something, Quentin figured, to know it was a man."A guy in a messenger service uniform. So you were right, she didn't didn't just use a stamp." just use a stamp.""Guys from messenger services don't double back to avoid surveillance.""Yeah, well, they a.s.sumed he was was a messenger and the real quarry was whoever he brought the message to. And then he pulled his maneuver and he was gone." a messenger and the real quarry was whoever he brought the message to. And then he pulled his maneuver and he was gone.""Well, the message arrived," said Quentin."You got a call?""A visit.""And?""I learned nothing," said Quentin bitterly."How can you learn nothing? Who came?""Madeleine.""So she's not dead?""Wayne, it wasn't the Madeleine you believe in, the flesh and blood one. It was the Madeleine who doesn't leave footprints.""Quentin, how can I help you when you won't help me back?""Keep on believing I'm crazy if you want, Wayne. But don't let up on the investigation.""Quentin, really. I'm trying to believe you. And you know me, I'm a lawyer, I can act act like I believe my client whether I do or not. I learned that from watching the O. J. trial." like I believe my client whether I do or not. I learned that from watching the O. J. trial.""OK, Wayne. It's cool.""What is?""Madeleine visiting me. You not believing me no matter how hard you try. The investigators losing the messenger. Even if they don't find anything, I need them to keep going after everything.""By the way, the deed to that house is in the name of a certain Anna Laurent Tyler. Seems she inherited from her mother, Delia Forrest Laurent, who got it from her late husband's will. It was originally built by a Laurent, though, back in the early 1800s.""Any address for Anna Laurent Tyler?" Quentin was writing down the names. He remembered that in the graveyard there had been a Delia Forrest Laurent, Devoted Wife, sharing a headstone with Theodore Aurelius Laurent, Beloved Husband."Sure," said Wayne, "but it's the address of the house in the deed.""Anna Laurent Tyler. That's something. The police chief in Mixinack said that she had a married daughter. Probably she didn't really marry a Duncan, but maybe we can get the true name out of the local papers. From the wedding announcement. A Tyler being given away by her mother, Anna Laurent Tyler.""When?""I'd start about three years ago and work backward. How would I know? If I find out more from Chief Bolt today, I'll let you know.""Today?" asked Wayne."I'm going back up to New York. To Mixinack.""Why? Hair of the dog?""Yeah, well, this dog follows me around anyway, I might as well head for the doghouse.""So you aren't missing the little woman as much as you thought.""Let's say that last night's interview was painful.""You have my sympathy, Quentin."

Chief Bolt's police department was in a graceful old city building, the kind made of huge stones with cla.s.sical-looking pillars and lions in front. There were two police cars parked in back, in reserved stalls. Quentin pulled his rented Taurus into one of the Visitor s.p.a.ces, went inside, and began wandering around in search of the police department. Apparently this was one of those small towns that lived by the principle that if you didn't know where something was, you had no business finding it. He would have asked for directions, but the place was deserted. Somewhere, though, somebody was typing. He finally found the source of the sound in the bas.e.m.e.nt, behind an unmarked door. He knocked."Come in," said a woman.He stuck his head in the room. "Just looking for the police department, ma'am.""You found it.""This? Right here?""Said so, didn't I?""I have an appointment with Chief Bolt."She pointed toward a closed door behind her, then went back to her typing. Quentin hadn't realized that New York manners extended so far north.Quentin knocked on the chief's door-which also had no sign. This time a man's voice told him to come in.Bolt was a burly man with military-short hair, but he didn't have the air of rigidity about him that Quentin had always a.s.sociated with that look. His uniform was a little tight on him, a little rumpled. And his face looked to have some warmth, as if he might just have a sense of humor. Not usually a cop thing."Hi, I'm Quentin Fears."Bolt nodded, but didn't look up from the form he was filling out. So much for the warmth.After a moment, Quentin realized that it wasn't a form at all, it was a crossword puzzle."Five-letter word for anxiety, has a G in the middle," said Bolt."Angst," said Quentin instantly."Spelled?""A-N-G-S-T.""Oh, angst," said Bolt, p.r.o.nouncing the A A to rhyme with the vowel in to rhyme with the vowel in rang rang."Need help with any others?" said Quentin."I would've got it eventually." He looked up at Quentin. "Younger than you sounded on the phone.""No, I sounded like a guy my age," said Quentin. Once again, as he had on the phone, Quentin picked up Bolt's offhand manner, his bantering style.Bolt grinned. The warmth Quentin had seen wasn't an illusion. "I figured I'd never see you, we got off to such a good start on the phone.""Yeah, well, once you visit Mixinack, you keep on coming back.""We ought to have that as a slogan. Put it on a sign out at the city limits.""I got a million of 'em.""Sit down, Mr. Fears." His tone was friendly now. Quentin's instinct had been right. Bolt liked a man who gave as good as he got.Quentin sat down and looked around a little. The office was meticulously clean, despite the tattiness of it. And contrary to what Bolt had said on the phone, his desk had only a few papers on it."Looks like you're all caught up with your work," Quentin said."We're doing OK for the middle of a crime wave.""Chief Bolt, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.""Really? Just a couple? Couldn't you phone?""I figured fair was fair, and you'd have some questions to ask me.""Still, there's a phone. Why are you here?""Because when I get the answers to my questions, I want to be able to act on them immediately."Bolt nodded. "I always feel that way, too. Found your wife yet?""As a matter of fact, I saw her last night. She's not missing anymore."Bolt nodded more slowly. "Well, good. Why didn't she come along?""I didn't say she was back with me. Just that she wasn't missing."Bolt sighed and recited:The ways of love are strange and hard:The love you want is always barred;The love you have you want to change.The ways of love are hard and strange.

"I didn't want to change my love," said Quentin."Did you like the poem? I wrote it.""Did you? I thought I'd heard it before.""Yeah, well, that's why I'm working in a police department in Mixinack instead of being lionized in the New York literary scene.""You want to hear my questions?""I'm all ears.""Where is Anna Laurent Tyler?""In a rest home.""And where is that rest home?"Bolt nodded slowly. "Well, now, what are you going to do when you locate it?"Go see her.""Won't do you any good," said Bolt."You don't know what I want to say to her.""I don't care if you want to sing her the 'Anvil Chorus'.""I hope you know the tenor part," said Quentin."She's pretty much a vegetable, son," said Bolt. "So you can talk to her all you want, but I don't see how it'll do you much good."Quentin felt as if the air had been knocked out of his chest. "Can't be," he said."Can so," said the chief. "Well, look at that. The word that crosses angst angst at the at the N N is is anvil anvil. And I just said anvil anvil a minute ago. Can you believe that?" a minute ago. Can you believe that?""Just one of the many marvels of an afternoon in Mixinack.""You still want to see her?""I can find out where she is eventually, but instead of making me have my investigators call every licensed rest home in the state, why not just tell me?""Better than that. I'll take you.""In a police car? Will you flash the lights and run the siren?""In your car. You think I'm going to use up part of my monthly mileage on giving a rich man a free ride?""When can you go?""Now," said Bolt, pushing back from his desk. "I haven't had lunch. You like chili?""No." Quentin followed him out into the hall."That's cause you haven't had Bella's chili. Is that really the coat you came in?""Yes.""n.o.body told you it was winter?""I don't plan to hike around outside a lot.""In the north, in the winter, you should always dress as if you were going to have to walk home ten miles in a blizzard from a car stuck in a drift.""That's how my driver should dress. I should dress for sitting in the limo drinking champagne while I wait for him to get back with help."By now they were outside. Quentin led the way to his Taurus."Oh, I see," said Bolt. "That was a joke. You don't have a driver.""You don't have a coat, either.""Man, I must be stupid," said Bolt.Since snow was falling steadily now, he had a point.They came out of the parking lot and Bolt directed him until he was heading south on the two-lane road that led past the Laurent house. Quentin realized at once that they weren't heading for the rest home at all. Sure enough, when they got to the half-hidden driveway Bolt directed him to turn left and go on in."I see quite a few new tire tracks since I was here last," said Quentin."Yeah, they're all mine," said Bolt. "Had to come here and take pictures of the footprints before they got covered.""Oh," said Quentin. "Evidence?""Definitely. I just don't know what it's evidence of of. Now that your wife is back in the land of the living.""If you can call it living," said Quentin. "A joke.""I got it. First time I heard that, it was Andy Devine in some cavalry movie. Or maybe it was Rin Tin Tin Rin Tin Tin on TV when I was a kid. Was he in that?" on TV when I was a kid. Was he in that?""Before my time," said Quentin.They got out of the car and Quentin dutifully tagged along up to the front door."Hope you don't mind the detour," said Bolt."I kind of expected it," said Quentin."Just wanted you to walk me through what you did the night you spent here.""Do I need an attorney?""Don't you have one?""I meant with me.""I'm not going to arrest you for trespa.s.s, Mr. Fears. Therefore you have no need for an attorney.""Am I really that stupid-looking?""Humor me, Mr. Fears."They were standing in the middle of the entry hall. Quentin looked at the fireplace but didn't see any talking rats. The door to the parlor had no writing on it. And the chief was a strong man with a pistol. All of this made Quentin feel much better about being in this room again."I never saw this room till I came to see Mrs. Tyler off to the rest home," said Bolt."Bet it was cleaner then.""Much. The glaziers are supposed to have come this morning to fix the window in the library. It was broken, you know.""I know.""I used to come to the back door all the time. Downstairs. There's a ramp going down to the kitchen. Toolrooms are down there, too.""You used to work here?""As a kid. Started helping out with weeding when I was little. That was before chemicals, so keeping the dandelions out of the lawns kept about a dozen of us kids in movie money all summer. But I kept hanging around, ended up mowing lawns and then I made gardener's a.s.sistant. That's how I put myself through college. Shoveled snow off that front porch out there so many times I hate to remember.""So this house is more than just a neighbor's place to you.""Had my first kiss here," said Bolt, sighing. "Come on downstairs, I'm curious about what you did in the kitchen."Quentin followed him. Bolt flipped on lightswitches as he went."Lights are on now?" Quentin asked."Guess so," said Bolt. "I had them turned on yesterday. I wanted to see more than a flashlight could show me."With the lights on, the stairs and hall looked to Quentin just as they had the night Madeleine led him down for a midnight snack. But the kitchen didn't. Quentin had distinctly remembered a table. Instead, there was a spot on the floor where someone had apparently sat down on the filthy linoleum."You walked in here-in the dark, or with a flashlight," said Bolt. "You went to the fridge, to those cupboards. But the fridge is locked shut, as you might notice, and n.o.body's opened it. So why walk there? Twice-see? Twice."Quentin remembered getting out mustard, mayo, a couple of sliced meats, and a head of lettuce. Then going back for pickles when Mad asked for one."They used to keep bread in this cupboard," said Bolt. "And sure enough, here's where you walked. To the bread cupboard, and then to the silverware drawer. See? Only... no bread, no silverware."He opened the empty drawer, the empty cupboard."b.u.mmer," said Quentin."Then you sit down on the floor. But... right where the kitchen table used to be. Right where the chair at the head of the table used to be. Butler used to have the undisputed right to sit in that chair. The cook made d.a.m.n sure n.o.body else-least of all a sweaty gardener's a.s.sistant-sat in it.""Got to keep that furniture clean.""Why did you sit on this floor, Mr. Fears? And what did you find in those cupboards?"Quentin shrugged."Now, see, there we are," said Bolt. "You want me to answer your your questions, but you won't give me t.i.t for tat." questions, but you won't give me t.i.t for tat.""Why give you answers you won't believe?""Well, answers I don't believe would be a step forward. Because right now what I don't believe is that you saw your wife alive yesterday."Quentin shook his head. "When you watched all those old Columbo Columbo episodes, didn't you notice that he always had a dead body before he started the murder investigation?" episodes, didn't you notice that he always had a dead body before he started the murder investigation?""I didn't say murder," said Bolt."You said you didn't think I saw my wife alive yesterday. And I tell you she was as alive as she ever was."Bolt kept opening cupboards until they were all open. Then he hitched himself up to sit on one of the grimy counters. "This is where I had my first kiss. This room. I was sitting on this counter.""The cook?" asked Quentin."The owner's daughter. Rowena Tyler.""How old?" asked Quentin."Who?" He must have startled the chief out of a reverie."Rowena. You.""I was twenty-two. And don't ask why it was my first kiss at that age.""My first kiss came later than that, Chief," said Quentin."She was fifteen.""So were you her first kiss too?""I didn't ask. Judging from the chasteness of the kiss, I'd say yes. And thanks for not saying some smart remark about robbing the cradle.""I was just thinking that it's sort of a young-adult version of Lady Chatterley's Lover Lady Chatterley's Lover.""Never read it. Sounded boring compared to the True Confessions True Confessions magazines my friends and I snuck over and read in the pharmacy when we were twelve." magazines my friends and I snuck over and read in the pharmacy when we were twelve.""So this room is full of memories for you.""Rowena's about your age now, wherever she is.""Never met her, I'm afraid.""She married and left before she was twenty. I think Mrs. Tyler knew that something had pa.s.sed between us, because for the first couple of years she didn't ever mention Rowena in front of me. And then one day she did, and I didn't flinch, and then she kept me posted about her. She had a child, a daughter, in 1984. She's going to turn twelve this year.""The woman I married was older than that.""But younger than Rowena.""Definitely.""Help me with this, Mr. Fears.""See, here's where we're running into our conflict, Chief. You seem to think I understand what happened here, and that I'm just not telling you.""Aren't these your footprints?""I'm willing to bet they are.""And your b.u.t.tprint on the floor?""Wouldn't be surprised.""That stairway is pitch black, day or night, when the power's off.""If you say so.""But your prints are surefooted.""Flashlight?""And the driver says that when he dropped you and your wife off out in front, the lights were on and a servant was waiting to take Mrs. Fears's bags.""Odd what details will stick in a person's mind.""And the servant knew her. Called her by name.""No, he got it wrong," said Quentin. "He called her by her maiden name, Cryer.""Tyler.""Cryer.""That's what he said, too. Amazing, don't you think?""I hoped maybe he'd remember.""Lights on all over the house," said Bolt."Well, not all all over. A few windows." over. A few windows.""Not possible," said Bolt."What a liar that driver is.""Did you get to him first?""And bribe him to tell you a story that is so obviously false? Boy am I dumb!"Bolt shook his head. "This family matters to me, and you're doing something here and I really, really want to know what it is because even though the old lady is about as alert as a lawn these days, I owe her. More than that-I like her. She's a friend. And when she dies, this house will go to Rowena. And her I more than liked. Even if I couldn't give her what she wanted most.""What was that?""A way out of Mixinack."Quentin nodded. "Small-town blues.""Yeah, well, I'm a small-town guy. Small-town dreams. I told her I'd go to the city with her but she said, 'And do what?' and I didn't have an answer for her.""They have cops down there, too.""Yeah, but the cops down there work work for a living. And I wasn't a cop then, remember? I was a gardener's a.s.sistant." for a living. And I wasn't a cop then, remember? I was a gardener's a.s.sistant.""Starcrossed lovers.""My point, Mr. Fears, is that you look like some kind of computer nerd and I'm a really strong guy and unless I know that you aren't going to hurt these people with your millions of dollars and your private investigators and your lawyers, well, I'm going to beat the s.h.i.t out of you right here in this kitchen.""Actually, I was kind of hoping you could protect me from them them.""These are good people, you rich lying a.s.shole.""Chief, I know you won't believe the truth if I tell you, and you obviously won't accept my silence, so you just tell me the lie that you'll believe and I'll say it. Whatever it takes to keep from getting beaten up.""You think I won't do it? You think just because I know you'll come down on me afterward with every lawyer in the known world, I won't do it?""Oh, sure, maybe you'll do it, maybe you won't. If you decide to do it, I'll just stand here until you knock me down. I won't raise a hand against you because you're an officer of the law and besides, I've never raised my hand in violence against another person in my life.""What are you, a Quaker?""A wimp," said Quentin. "Come on, Chief Bolt, I like you and you like me. I understand why you're threatening me but I'm not going to tell you stuff that I know will just make you madder. I'll accept how mad you are right now. I think if you beat me up when you're only this mad, I'll live through it without needing serious surgery."The chief slid off the counter and took a step toward Quentin. He didn't flinch, though the chief's threats did scare him. Quentin had never been beaten up. He had, however, seen the Rodney King tape.But Chief Bolt didn't hit him. Instead he slammed all the cupboard doors shut and kicked the fridge. Then he stood with his forehead pressing against the door of the freezer compartment."Chief," said Quentin, "thanks for not hitting me.""You're welcome," said Chief Bolt. "It's not you I'm angry at.""I figured that, since I'm such a nice guy.""This place really screwed up my life. I should be happy. I've got a good job, a good wife, and some good kids. B